Woke to a mist of rain yesterday, long enough for puddles (and wet dogs) but light enough for flowers to collect individual drops.
Daisy not only outweighs Walt, she's more solidly built, and with a lower center of gravity. But Walt's the better tactician (and they both really love this game) so their slow-motion wrestling match remains open-ended, continuing day after day without ever reaching a decisive conclusion.
As the marine layer lifts and the clouds retreat there's suddenly more room for light and the colors begin to come back.
Several weeks into May Gray (and with June Gloom still tk) the need for bright colors comes over you.
Here's the baby Labrador using the power of her mind to (successfully) move dinner time up by five minutes.
The back of a traffic sign on the median at Trancas Road:
Headed up a favorite trail in Solstice Canyon yesterday, not the crowded superhighway to the ruins but a shorter walk, wooded and green with an abundant canopy and constant birdsong. It's a little weird because for the second day in a row we come across a drift of hawk feathers, torn up enough to show that something bad happened. But that's the natural world, really, something bad is always happening to someone, and we walk on.
We've just cleared a few fallen logs, reached the bend in the trail where the canyon closes in and the sky tightens up when suddenly there's a scream from the stream bed below. It's high and shrill and arcs through an octave, the top notes still there as the low notes chime in. Thank goodness the dogs stay when I tell them to.
It's not easy to do the recommended retreat, slow and steady, don't show your back, but we manage it. There's another scream but from further away so no, we're not being followed.
At home later, the cougar cries I find online sound a lot like what we just heard. The dogs stare at the computer, on high alert, not at all happy.
It's duckling season at the various streams and ponds here at the coast and every once in a while, a surprise arrival.
There are plenty of wildflowers that are brighter or fancier or showier, but these tiny purple ones, their faces the size of a pomegranate seed, are among my favorites.
I want to say that it's going to be all hawk chicks, all the time, but the truth is they're growing so quickly that before you know it, it'll be sad sighs and a photo of an empty nest.
Not the steadiest video but still fun to see the hawk chicks biding their time while the parents are gone.
The dogs and wild parrots and coveys of quail, the finches and crows and squirrels, the lizards and bees and coyotes and dragonflies were all busy with important tasks, but for me at that moment, as the breeze shifted and the sun slanted through it was all pure, tender, just-for-a-moment spring green.
I just want to camp out and watch the comings and goings of the fierce adults as they care for their fluffy and fuzzy little brood.
Spring green makes its annual retreat as the rains (what there was of them) end and summer heat edges in.
Green Thumb, the best garden center you may not know about, helps you live your best life.
Eleven years later and it's still not 'soon'.
Vacant lot in Malibu
Taken on April 5, 2007